


If I Didn't Care

by hollycomb



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and Chekov have a harrowing experience together on a dangerous planet, and Sulu is definitely not jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Didn't Care

Everybody knows what happened before Kirk and Chekov return to the ship. Kirk has been transmitting since they came back in range, and the first thing he said was, "Lieutenant Baker is dead." He was killed during a skirmish with natives on a planet the Federation has been referring to as KU-972, which is home to a colony of refugees from Malador who were saved from execution by the Federation after their own government turned on them. It's the usual political disaster that the Federation is asked to navigate, and now Baker has been sacrificed to it. Kirk and Chekov weren't even able to escape with Baker's body, and when they materialize in the bay Chekov has dried blood on his shirt, streaking down from a gash on his shoulder, and Kirk has a black eye. Chekov is white with terror, his eyes wide as if he no longer recognizes the safe harbor of the ship, and the sight of him makes Sulu's heart shudder. He wants to run forward and carry Chekov to the sick bay, but Kirk is already doing that.   
  
"Everybody out of the way!" Kirk bellows, hoisting Chekov fully into his arms and stepping down from the platform. Chekov lets himself be carried without protest, limp against Kirk's chest. Sulu's hands curl at his sides as they pass by. Kirk was a fool to let Chekov talk him into including him in a planetary excursion. Kirk knew it was stupid, but he has a weakness for Chekov, like everyone else on the ship and in the world, and he let Chekov come along probably just so that he could see the way Chekov smiled when he heard that he would finally be included.   
  
Sulu had asked to come along after Chekov was assigned to the mission, but Kirk said he needed Sulu on the ship and took Baker instead. Now Sulu has to wonder if Kirk's refusal saved his life. Sulu had been so angry with Kirk the day he disembarked with Chekov and Baker, thinking that Kirk had noticed how close Sulu and Chekov were becoming and that he disapproved for some reason.   
  
He spends the rest of the day on the bridge, working as hard as he can through his distraction. He keeps glancing at Chekov's empty chair and letting the sight of it dig into his heart. More than anything, he wants to go to the sick bay and kneel beside Chekov's bed, maybe hold his shaking hand. Kirk could have gotten him killed, indulging him the way he did. Chekov wants everyone to think of him as an equal, especially since he turned eighteen a few months back, but what Kirk did was insane. When Kirk walks out onto the bridge, dressed all in black – fucking dramatic, always – Sulu doesn't turn to fawn over him and ask him questions like the rest of the crew.   
  
"How long until we reach Earth?" Kirk asks Sulu.   
  
"Two days," Sulu says, keeping his eyes on his monitor.   
  
"Okay." Kirk sighs deeply, as if he's consenting to this, as if he could demand that Sulu get them there sooner, even though it's physically impossible. "Listen, everybody," he says, turning from Sulu. "Spock has the conn for a few hours. I have to go – well. I'll be in my quarters. I need to call Earth and inform Lieutenant Baker's family about what happened."   
  
The bridge falls silent the way Kirk certainly wanted it to when he made that unnecessary speech, and he breezes away. Sulu pushes his lips together to hold in a groan. He's sure the next two days will be a pageant of mourning starring Kirk. He's almost guilty, being so cynical, but Kirk has really worn on his nerves ever since Sulu noticed the way he basks in Chekov's worshipful attention. Sulu can't deny that Kirk is impressive – he saved Sulu's life once, after all. But only after Sulu had saved his. And Chekov is the one who saved both of them, so Sulu doesn't think he really owes Kirk so much admiration.   
  
As soon as Sulu's break begins he rushes to the sick bay to see Chekov. When he arrives he finds that he'll need to get in line. Half the female crew members have gathered around Chekov's bed, along with five or six men Sulu doesn't even recognize, and McCoy is shouting and trying to chase everyone off.   
  
"Christ!" McCoy says, ushering out a pair of girls with long ponytails who look even younger than Chekov. "It's just a cut. He'll live."  
  
"Poor thing!" one of the girls says as she's pushing past Sulu. "He could have been killed!"  
  
"I know," her friend says. "And he's probably traumatized," she adds, almost hopefully. Sulu rolls his eyes and sneaks into the sick bay, where McCoy is standing with his hands on his hips, scowling.  
  
"What do you want?" he asks Sulu, and when Sulu's eyes go immediately to Chekov his question is answered. Chekov is sitting up in his bed, looking bashful and stunned, someone's pink lipstick still smudged on his left cheek. McCoy groans and walks off without trying to usher Sulu out as well. Sulu supposes he must pull rank over all of Chekov's other admirers. Not that he's an admirer. Not that he cares for Chekov for the same reason those girls and Kirk do, because Chekov is a magnet for their need to protect and coddle and adore someone with sad blue eyes.   
  
"Are you alright?" Sulu asks, coming to stand beside Chekov's bed. Chekov is shirtless, which can't have helped the onslaught of female attention, and his shoulder is bandaged.   
  
"I'm fine," Chekov says. He sneaks a look up at Sulu's eyes, and Sulu knows he's far from fine. When Olsen died during Sulu's first planetary excursion, even though Sulu had only met him minutes before, he was shaken by it for weeks after all of the excitement ended. What Chekov witnessed with Baker was much more intimate, and Sulu can't imagine seeing someone die like that, up close and personal. He still has nightmares about the way Olsen screamed when he realized that he was going to die.   
  
"Your shoulder," Sulu says absently, wanting to touch the bandage. "What did they hit you with?"  
  
"A spear sort of thing?" Chekov says, his eyes narrowing, and Sulu feels guilty for making him remember it and talk about it. He shakes his head.   
  
"I'm glad you're alright," he says, and saying so makes his heart race, just because he doesn't want Chekov thinking he's anything like the others, not even Kirk. Sulu might want to carry Chekov around, but he would never actually do it; it's degrading.   
  
"Baker," Chekov says softly, and Sulu nods.   
  
"I know," he says.  
  
"I know you know," Chekov says, and then they look at each other for a long time, Chekov's eyes so big and Sulu trying not to fall face first into them. By the time Sulu has worked up the nerve to reach for Chekov's shoulder, or maybe his face, McCoy has returned. He's still scowling.   
  
"Don't you have anyplace to be?" he asks Sulu. "Let the kid get some rest."  
  
Sulu nods and ticks Chekov's chin so that his hand is not left hanging in the air between them. Chekov frowns a little, as if he's annoyed by the gesture, and Sulu turns to leave. He's breathing hard and walking too fast, and he ends up in his quarters before he remembers that he should be returning to the bridge. He takes a moment to steady himself, and it's not because he's thinking, like those girls were, that Chekov might really have died if that spear had landed just a few inches to the right. And even if he is thinking that, it's not because he thinks, like they do, like Kirk does, that he deserves to be the person who Chekov needs, someone who can wrap around him and close as much of Chekov as possible into the safety of his arms, away from the world that was not made for someone whose eyes are always so open and whose skin is so soft.  
  
Not that Sulu would know about Chekov's skin, since he doesn't make a habit of carrying him about the ship. It's just a theory he has.  
  
*  
  
The rest of the day goes as Sulu expected: Kirk stalks around looking distraught and people mutter about Chekov's condition, exaggerating everything. Somehow a rumor develops that Chekov was on the verge of dying, too, only Kirk saved him with some crazily heroic rescue, and prevailed in hand to hand combat against ten well-armed natives. Sulu tries to tune it all out, and by the time his shift ends he's practically jogging back to the quiet of his quarters, skipping dinner. He drags his hands through his hair and walks in circles around his room, wondering if Chekov is still in the sick bay or if he's returned to his own room by now. Well, it doesn't make any difference. Sulu lies on his back in bed and makes himself think about Baker, who he only spoke to a few times and who seemed like a nice enough guy, maybe a little uptight. Now he's dead, and everyone, including Sulu, is so obsessed with the survivors' reactions that they're missing the point. Sulu wonders what Kirk's conversation with Baker's wife and parents was like, and feels bad for Kirk, for Baker, for everyone. He still remembers everything about the call he and his mother got about his father: the tea kettle whistling in the kitchen, the color of his mother's skirt, and the golden sunlight through the windows, as if the rest of the world didn't know that anything was wrong, and of course it didn't.  
  
Sulu falls asleep and dreams of Chekov in a wooden cage, being carried off by enemies of the Federation and holding onto the bars, pushing his face against them like a plea. Kirk comes out of nowhere, swinging on a vine like Tarzan, picks up the cage as if it's weightless and carries Chekov away to safety. Sulu remains on the ground, staring after them in irritated awe.  
  
In the morning he wakes up feeling sore, because he was tense in his sleep and his muscles didn't get the rest they needed. He skips his workout and drinks an extra cup of coffee with his breakfast. Across the cafeteria, Chekov is sitting among a large group of interested parties who are all listening as he stutters out the story of his near-death experience. Sulu tries not to look, but every time he does, Chekov is staring at him like he wants Sulu to do something, to intervene. Sulu eats his cereal bitterly, and when he can't remember why he's mad at Chekov he gets up and crosses the room. Kirk, of course, thunders into the room and arrives at Chekov's side before Sulu can.   
  
"Everyone, please!" Kirk bellows, and the crowd around Chekov shrinks backward in shame. "Give him some space, for God's sake!"  
  
The others slink away, looking earnestly guilty, and Kirk squeezes Chekov's shoulder. Sulu stands in the middle of the room, a few feet from Chekov's table, holding his coffee cup and feeling like an idiot.   
  
"How're you holding up, buddy?" Kirk asks, sitting sideways in the chair beside Chekov, facing him. Sulu waits for Chekov to give Kirk that same irritated look that he gave Sulu when he had the nerve to tick Chekov's chin, but he only wilts and makes the sort of long-suffering face that Kirk has probably been waiting to see.   
  
"I'm okay, _Keptin_ ," Chekov says. "How are you?"  
  
Kirk shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, melodramatically, Sulu thinks.   
  
"I'm going up to the bridge," Kirk says to Chekov. "You come up whenever you're ready. Take as much rest as you need."  
  
"I'd rather get back to work," Chekov says. "So I will have something else to think of, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, I know," Kirk says, smiling. He glances over at Sulu. "You need me for something?" he asks brightly, and Sulu barely catches a look of disgust before it can spill over his face.   
  
"No," Sulu says. He starts to add that he was waiting to speak to Chekov, actually, but then Kirk will only accuse him of not giving Chekov his needed _space_ , so Sulu just walks away, the backs of his ears burning.   
  
Back on the bridge, there isn't enough to do to keep Sulu's mind off of things, such as the way Kirk keeps hovering over he and Chekov's station, and the way Chekov jumps a little anytime a transmission crackles from Uhura's station. Chekov is moving his shoulder awkwardly, and Kirk keeps asking him if he needs him to summon Bones.  
  
"It just itches a little, sir," Chekov says, and Sulu can tell that he's embarrassed. He wants to wheel around and scream at Kirk to sit the fuck down, because he keeps pacing and asking stupid questions, like does Sulu know where Spock is?   
  
"He doesn't usually check in with me," Sulu says, a little too tightly, and Chekov glances over at him. Kirk is oblivious, of course, and he begins to pace back toward his chair.   
  
"One day until we're home," Chekov says when the countdown clocks at the bottom of he and Sulu's main monitors reach 24:00. Sulu grunts noncommittally, and here he is again, trying to remember why he's mad at Chekov, but he's not, actually, right?   
  
"What will you do when we get back to Earth?" Chekov asks, and he's speaking quietly, as if he doesn't want Kirk to hear. The day before Chekov disembarked with Kirk and Baker he had been high with anticipation, bouncing around the bridge with more energy than usual, and when Sulu had lifted his shoulder to his chin uncomfortably, Chekov had popped over to rub out the knot for him. Everyone but Kirk had been too preoccupied to notice, but Kirk had laughed and told them to get a room, which was maybe only an innocent joke, but since every squeeze of Chekov's hand had gone right to Sulu's cock and he was chewing his tongue to keep from moaning, he didn't really find it all that funny. Plus, it had embarrassed Chekov.   
  
"I guess I'll just go visit my mother," Sulu says. "You?"   
  
"The same," Chekov says. "Only, you know. My father."  
  
Chekov's mother died when he was a kid. It's kind of written all over him. He and Sulu have talked about it, losing a parent as a child, what it was like to have the whole world sliced in half before they'd even had time to learn that life wasn't fair. How part of them believed, for a long time afterward, that they were being lied to, and one day the parent they lost would show up at the door and explain everything. Sulu and Chekov had been talking like this on a regular basis before Chekov's misadventure with Kirk. Chekov would show up at Sulu's door late at night to ask him if he was tired. It was such a dumb, sweet way to start a conversation, and Sulu always said no, though it usually wasn't true, and sometimes he'd even climbed out of bed to open the door for Chekov. He'd come to look forward to his late night talks with Chekov, even if they only talked about the foods they missed on Earth that they couldn't get on the Enterprise, and he hopes that Chekov will start showing up at his door again soon. Talking when they're on the bridge and Kirk is lurking around behind them is a poor substitute.  
  
"The Captain seems pretty concerned about you," Sulu mutters over his meal when he and Chekov have lunch together that afternoon. Sulu was going to eat alone, but Chekov followed Sulu to his favorite spot on the ship, in the meditation garden, where he's definitely not supposed to bring food, but when he hides behind the giant fountain in the back right corner of the garden he's virtually invisible to the meditators.   
  
"The _Keptin_?" Chekov says, and Sulu would love the way he pronounces that word if it didn't come out sounding like Chekov's pet name for Kirk.   
  
"Yeah, he's all over you since you've been back. I mean --"   
  
"He's feeling, I think, guilt. I am not Baker, but I am here and he can . . . take care of me, now."   
  
Sulu feels as if Chekov has pulled a shade over his eyes, something that will darken everything for the rest of Sulu's life. _Take care of me_ , yeah, great. Okay.  
  
"Well, he'll probably want to hang around you while we're on Earth, then," Sulu says, staring down at his pasta salad, which might as well be a pile of writhing worms now. His appetite is gone.   
  
"You think so?" Chekov asks, as if he can't imagine someone like _James T. Kirk_ actually wanting to spend his free time with the likes of him.   
  
"I mean," Sulu says, "If you're such a _comfort_ to him now."   
  
"It was awful," Chekov says softly, and Sulu looks up at him. Chekov is staring down at his sandwich, which he's taken only one small bite from. "Not like with you and the _Keptin_ , on Vulcan. It should have been you there instead of me. Then maybe things would not have gone so bad."  
  
"Maybe you should talk to the psychologist," Sulu says, because he's pretty sure they have one on staff. Chekov looks up at him with his eyes narrowed, and Sulu feels like he's been struck across the face.   
  
"No," Chekov says. "I'm not a child. I know bad things happen and there is nothing I can do."   
  
"I know, I know – wait." Sulu grabs Chekov's wrist to keep him from getting up. The angry look melts off of Chekov's face, and he stares at Sulu with his lips parted. His skin, finally under Sulu's hand, is so soft, and Sulu knew it would be, he knew it.   
  
"I couldn't save Olsen," Sulu says. "So I didn't do any better than you."   
  
"I'm more suited to the ship," Chekov says, looking unhappy about this.  
  
"So am I," Sulu says.  
  
"Then why did you ask to come with us on that mission?"  
  
"Because," Sulu says, and he feels like he's already said it: _because you were going, because I wanted to pretend that I could protect you_. Chekov just stares at him, not hearing this. Sulu actually thinks, for one psychotic moment, about kissing Chekov's open mouth, licking his lips further apart, answering his question that way.   
  
"Listen," Sulu says, dropping Chekov's wrist. "Just. If Kirk ends up, you know, _seducing_ you or whatever, just make sure you wear a condom, because --"   
  
" _What_?" Chekov shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Nothing, just, he sleeps with pretty much anything that moves, so – "   
  
"You think the _Keptin_ wants to – have sex with me?" Chekov asks, narrowing eyes again, and there is nothing Sulu likes less than that look of judgment on Chekov's face.   
  
"Look, you don't have to call him the _Keptin_ when he's not in earshot, okay, his name is Kirk."   
  
"Don't make fun of me," Chekov says, standing. His sandwich drops from his lap to the ground, and for some reason the sight makes Sulu want to sob.   
  
"I'm not," Sulu says weakly.  
  
"You are. My accent." Chekov mutters something Russian under his breath and walks off without looking back. Sulu picks up the sandwich Chekov dropped and sets it on the edge of the fountain. He's tempted to take a bite of it, over the place where Chekov's teethmarks show, and he feels dizzy, so he stands, afraid that otherwise he might faint backward into the fountain and drown. He's worse than the girls who crowded into the sick bay, worse even than Kirk. He's more in love with Chekov than anyone on board, and all he's got to show for it is a discarded chicken salad sandwich and credit for putting the idea of sleeping with Kirk into Chekov's head.  
  
*  
  
Chekov doesn't show up for the rest of his shift, taking advantage of Kirk's offer to get some rest. Sulu hates the sight of someone else sitting in Chekov's chair, and the sight of Kirk spread out in his chair behind the monitoring station, looking, Sulu imagines, a little too sated, his legs spread apart. Sadistically, Sulu pictures Chekov crawling into Kirk's lap, begging to be held and getting fucked instead, thinking it means something only to watch Kirk happily move on to the next shiny object of his very temporary affection in the morning. Well, it will serve Chekov right.   
  
Biting down on his lip, Sulu tries again to remember why he's mad at Chekov. Because Chekov is mad at him. Or, because Chekov is not in love with him, mostly.  
  
Sulu skips dinner again after his shift ends, and heads back to his room for a shower. When he gets out he lies in bed, still damp, and thinks about Chekov, where he is, what he's doing, what he's thinking. Maybe he's alone, thinking about the sound of Baker dying, the blood that choked in his throat, or the way his eyes got panicked like an animal's, everything but fear wiped from them. Maybe he's in Kirk's lap, whispering that Sulu has figured things out, and maybe Kirk won't abandon Chekov, because how could he, maybe he'll just stroke his hand down the back of Chekov's neck and tell him that they can't let Sulu's jealousy interfere with their _destiny_.   
  
Sulu is half-dreaming this by the time he hears the knock on his door. The knock is too loud to be Chekov's, so he's expecting Kirk when he pulls the door open, and a stern lecture on how Sulu needs to stop telling the ensigns that Kirk is out to seduce them. But it is Chekov, standing in the hall and doing his best to look angry.   
  
"I need to speak to you," Chekov says. His cheeks are red, and Sulu remembers that he's only wearing a towel. "Do you need a moment to – dress?" Chekov asks.   
  
"No," Sulu says, feeling dazed. "I mean, yes. Well. Just come in. You can avert your eyes."  
  
He walks inside without looking back, and Chekov follows. The door closes, and Sulu goes to his bureau, pulls out boxer shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt from the Academy that is faded, the word _Starfleet_ chipping off in yellow letters. He dresses without making sure that Chekov isn't looking, and when he turns around Chekov is facing the opposite wall, his shoulders tense. Sulu walks to Chekov and takes both of his shoulders in his hands, turns him around. Chekov is still pink-cheeked, and Sulu thinks, hopefully, that he might have peeked.   
  
"So," Sulu says. "What is it?"  
  
"I –" Chekov stutters, looking up at Sulu as if suddenly he doesn't recognize him. "I – I don't like – what you think of me. Me and Kirk."   
  
"Oh, fuck." Sulu lets go of Chekov, moaning. "Never mind that. I was just being an asshole."  
  
"Yes," Chekov says, nodding. "But why were you being an asshole, suddenly?"  
  
Sulu grins. "Suddenly?" he says, flattered. Chekov frowns.   
  
"You have never been cruel to me before," he says, very seriously, and Sulu feels like a terrible, terrible person. He shakes his head, and grabs Chekov's shoulders again.  
  
"I didn't mean to be cruel," he says.  
  
"I think, maybe, you're in love with the _Keptin_ ," Chekov says, squaring his shoulders under Sulu's grip. "And you want me not to interfere."  
  
Sulu would be offended if he wasn't laughing so hard. Chekov only frowns more deeply, and it's adorable, and Sulu laughs harder.   
  
"You're being willfully dumb, Pavel," Sulu says, and he's pretty sure that is the first time Chekov has heard anyone say so, because he looks so lost.   
  
"Now, see," Chekov says, nodding once. "What have I done to make you angry?"  
  
"I'm not angry."  
  
"You called me dumb."  
  
"Jesus, man." Sulu bends backward to look up at the ceiling, grounding himself. "I'm not in love with Kirk."  
  
"Well, neither am I," Chekov says, still frowning.  
  
"Okay." Sulu pushes Chekov's shoulders against the wall, which only takes two steps, and Chekov allows it, pressing himself backward. "So where does that leave us?"  
  
"Why are you upset with me?" Chekov asks, and between that and the look on his face, Sulu just breaks right in two. Half of him wants to cuddle Chekov to him and kiss his nose and half of him wants to fuck him senseless and kiss his mouth until neither of them can breathe. There's nothing else left of him, presently.   
  
"Because you almost died," Sulu says, answering honestly. Chekov looks surprised.  
  
"You're mad at me for this?" he says. "Why?"  
  
"Because you have the ability to pretty much ruin my life," Sulu says. "I resent that."  
  
Chekov boggles at him, and Sulu thinks there might be some kind of language barrier or age difference thing going on here, so he just leans in, not quite touching his face to Chekov's but close enough to scare him away if he's not interested. Chekov goes still and stares, his breath puffing out against Sulu's mouth.   
  
"How could I ruin your life?" Chekov asks, though Sulu thinks he's begun to get the idea. They're so close, as close as they're going to get before they move apart forever or fall completely together.   
  
"By dying," Sulu says. "Get it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Jesus!"  
  
"Just say it!" Chekov says, blinking a million times but still exhibiting a kind of maturity that makes Sulu feel ashamed of himself. "Say it."  
  
"God," Sulu says, moaning. "I don't want you to sleep with Jim."   
  
"Not that," Chekov says. He arches off of the wall, pressing his hips against Sulu's. Like: get on with it. And Sulu is trying, but it's not that easy.  
  
"I want you to sleep with me," Sulu says, looking at the wall beside Chekov's ear while he says so. He shifts his gaze to Chekov's eyes cautiously, and Chekov looks dangerously amused, triumphant.  
  
"Why?" Chekov asks.   
  
" _Why_?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
"Well." Sulu raises his eyebrows. Chekov did say _please_ , and his body is so warm against Sulu's, his breath like the cherry Jello they serve in the staff cafeteria, which suddenly seems profound, or significant, because Chekov ate it.   
  
"Well?" Chekov says, grinning, and Sulu wonders if Kirk would even have been able to handle Chekov. Best that they never got the chance to find out. Sulu thinks of Kirk in his room, jerking off to porn, and feels infinitely sorry for him, and for anyone who isn't settled against the shape of Chekov's body, looking into his eyes as they clear of doubt.   
  
"Because," Sulu says. "Because, because. Of the way you scratch the back of your neck when you're concentrating. And that time you bit your lip when we got that transmission from Hahira and it made you nervous. And the way you browbeat Kirk into letting you go on that mission. Though I also hated that, because it meant that I'm not the only one who loves you." He winces. "I mean, who is – affected, uh. Wants to, you know. Wants you, is what I mean."  
  
Chekov smiles, looking sweet and sympathetic in a way that almost makes Sulu angry, or at least defensive. But Chekov smells so good, like an untouched country full of ripe tropical fruit, so Sulu only leans closer, burying Chekov against the wall.   
  
"You are the only one," Chekov says, nodding as if he's sure. "That is why you were an asshole, as you say."  
  
"Okay," Sulu says, smirking. "Okay, fine, okay."  
  
Sulu kisses Chekov, and as soon as their tongues meet he's lifting Chekov off the floor. He's heavier than he looks, but he wraps around Sulu easily, bracing himself back against the wall. The cherry Jello is the best thing Sulu has ever tasted: on Chekov's mouth it's a delicacy, pure joy, total nirvana. It's Chekov with a cherry on top; it's everything even better than he dared to hope for.   
  
Sulu dumps Chekov into his desk chair and kneels down in front of him, pushing Chekov's legs apart until he fits between them. Chekov is breathing like he just ran that marathon he's famous for winning. Sulu remembers reading about it and rolling his eyes, picturing some self-satisfied little brat who was only brilliant because he was obsessed with winning. He never expected Chekov to be so completely unaffected, kind of embarrassed by his intelligence and deferential even to his fangirls. He did know, on sight, that Chekov's skin would taste like this, so good, and he lifts Chekov's shirt up further to lick all the way up his chest. Chekov's hands are in Sulu's hair, his fingers digging in, and Sulu can feel the heat of Chekov's cock against his breastbone. He's already so hard, and Sulu knows he could make Chekov come all night long, again and again, until he's sore and sobbing with exhaustion. He rubs his palm over the bulge in Chekov's pants, and Chekov spreads his legs wider, his mouth hanging open as he watches Sulu with hooded eyes.   
  
"Have you ever had your cock sucked?" Sulu asks, rubbing harder. Chekov makes a choked little noise and thrusts up against Sulu's hand, his legs trembling around Sulu's sides.   
  
"Yes," Chekov breathes out, and Sulu isn't sure if he's answering the question or just begging, but it doesn't really matter, anyway. He kisses down the hard shape of Chekov's cock through his trousers, and Chekov curses out some unrecognizable words, probably Russian, and pulls on Sulu's hair, probably inadvertently.  
  
Taking Chekov's trousers down feels sacrilegious, and Sulu half expects thunder to crack warningly overhead as he yanks Chekov's underwear (tight black briefs, an almost jarring surprise) down with them. Then his mouth is on Chekov's cock and Chekov is like, _crying_ with pleasure, like he can't handle it, and Sulu loses all reservations. He takes Chekov wholly into his mouth, and God, the taste of him, Sulu will never recover. He rubs Chekov's balls, squeezes his shaking thighs and sucks his leaking cock with careful rhythm, and pretty soon he's swallowing Chekov's come in gulps, Chekov firing out sharp little shouts as he pumps it down Sulu's throat. Sulu sits back and wipes his mouth, so wrapped up in the sight of Chekov – panting, his cock wet and red, legs still shaking – that he actually manages to forget that he's harder than he's ever been in his life until he shifts a bit and his erection throbs painfully inside his trousers.   
  
"Let me," Chekov says, not missing the look that passes over Sulu's face when he feels like he'll come just from the rub of his tented boxers over the head of his trapped cock. Chekov gets out of the chair and falls onto Sulu shakily, pushing him onto the floor and leaning up over him. He gives Sulu an idiotic smile that makes them both laugh, then kisses him, fumbling at Sulu's trousers until he's able to sneak his hand inside.   
  
"Yeah," Sulu moans, mindless with Chekov's fingers closed around his cock, stroking him in clumsy passes. Chekov pushes Sulu's trousers and boxers down, and Sulu holds his breath until Chekov's mouth is finally on him, Chekov's pink tongue circling his cockhead slowly. Sulu curses in senseless outbursts that might as well be Russian and tries not to push upward when Chekov takes him into his mouth gingerly, because even if Chekov has had his cock sucked before, Sulu is pretty sure he's never returned the favor. Still, all it really takes is some eager lapping at the base of Sulu's cock and Sulu lets himself go sharply over the edge, Chekov's shoulders squeezed into his hands as he spills his come onto his own stomach and Chekov's cheek. Chekov winces in surprise and reaches up to rub his cheek clean, wiping the residue onto Sulu's trousers. Sulu laughs and pulls Chekov down to him.   
  
"Thanks for that," Sulu says sarcastically, meaning the stain on his trousers. Chekov tips his head up from Sulu's shoulder to grin at him.   
  
"You're welcome," he says, bright and earnest, and Sulu laughs as Chekov kisses his neck. He loves Chekov so much, and thinking of it now, with Chekov half-undressed and flopped against him on the floor, is like waking from a bad dream and realizing that none of it mattered, that everything is really okay. The whole world feels safe and harmless, and when Sulu stands up he scoops Chekov into his arms, groaning as he lifts him off the floor.  
  
"What are you doing?" Chekov asks, laughing as Sulu carries him to the bed.   
  
"How the fuck are you so heavy?" Sulu asks. Chekov only laughs harder, and Sulu sets him down on the sheets carefully. He pulls Chekov's shirt off, then his shoes, and strips him of his pushed-down trousers and underwear. When he's completely naked Sulu pulls the sheets up over him, still intimidated by the sight. Chekov yanks the sheets up to his chin and watches Sulu undress.   
  
"So I'm to sleep here, am I?" Chekov says.   
  
"If you want to." Sulu hadn't even considered the idea that Chekov might not. Chekov rolls onto his side and tucks a hand under Sulu's pillow.   
  
"Yes," Chekov says. "But sometimes I wake up. I've been having nightmares."   
  
"Since Baker?" Sulu asks, climbing into the bed beside him. Chekov nods, and Sulu rolls toward him, pulling Chekov against his chest. Chekov shuts his eyes and smiles, kisses Sulu over his heartbeat.   
  
"I don't mind," Sulu says, stroking Chekov's hair, which is damp at his temples. "If you have nightmares."   
  
"Maybe I won't," Chekov says. He yawns and pushes his face up against Sulu's neck, burrows in closer. "With you here."   
  
They're both boiling hot, sweating, but they don't move apart. Sulu curls an arm around Chekov's back and kisses the high point of his forehead, at the line of his hair, at least a thousand times. Chekov doesn't seem to notice; he's quickly asleep, drooling onto Sulu's skin. If the ship is swallowed up by a supernova in the night Sulu will die feeling confident that he did everything he could to make the world a better place. He's glued himself to Chekov, and it feels like the pinnacle of accomplishment.   
  
He falls asleep after fighting it off for hours, Chekov having adjusted himself several times until he found the right spot: turned away from Sulu with his back curved against Sulu's chest, holding Sulu's pillow against his own chest so that they both have their heads flat on the mattress. Sulu doesn't protest the loss of his pillow, and when he does drift off to sleep he's breathing in Chekov's hair, which smells like everything Sulu has always been attracted to: the stale sweat of the other boys in the locker room at school, the utilitarian shampoo that almost all the men in Starfleet use, and some other unknowable, secret thing, which is so soft on Chekov, just mysterious enough.   
  
When Sulu wakes up with a start he thinks at first that Chekov must have had a nightmare, but Chekov is still limp with sleep beside Sulu, holding Sulu's pillow. Sulu rubs his face, then jumps when he hears the noise that woke him again: someone is knocking on the door of his room. Sulu squints at the clock he keeps beside the bed, wondering if he overslept, but it's only a little after four o'clock in the morning, and his shift on the bridge doesn't start until 06:00.   
  
The knocking continues, and Sulu climbs out of bed, glancing back at Chekov and wondering if he should make some effort to hide him. But it's not as if Chekov is a minor any longer, and neither of them is doing anything wrong. Sulu puts on a pair of sweatpants and answers the door with his eyes half-shut from sleep.  
  
Kirk is standing in the hallway, still wearing his all-black ensemble and looking panicked. Sulu pulls the door shut around him so that Kirk won't be able to see inside the room.   
  
"What's wrong?" Sulu asks.   
  
"Have you seen Ensign Chekov?" Kirk asks. "He's missing." Like everything that Kirk says, this is supposed to have maximum impact, and he looks aggravated when Sulu doesn't fly into a panic himself.  
  
"Uh." Sulu rubs his face, sucking in a deep breath. "Yeah."   
  
"Yeah? Well, when? Where?"  
  
Sulu makes an uncomfortable face and raises his shoulders a bit, not sure how he should phrase this exactly, and trying to figure out why he feels like a criminal.   
  
"He's in here," Sulu says, flicking his head back toward his bed. "Asleep."   
  
"I –" Understanding floods Kirk's face so suddenly that Sulu has to chew the tip of his tongue to keep from laughing. Kirk frowns.   
  
"Is – he okay?" Kirk asks.   
  
"Yes, Captain," Sulu says. "Do you need me to wake him up?"  
  
"No," Kirk says slowly, still frowning, and Sulu knows that he, too, is trying to work out how this might possibly be illegal. "I'm just worried about him," Kirk says. "After what happened."  
  
"I know," Sulu says. "But he's okay, really."  
  
"It was my fault," Kirk says, staring into space now. "What happened, everything. I brought him, if anything had –" He trails off there and meets Sulu's eyes, smirks a little.  
  
"But you two are like, uh?" Kirk says, and Sulu shrugs.   
  
"Looks that way," he says. Kirk shakes his head.   
  
"You'd better be good to him," he says. "Everyone loves him."  
  
"I know that, sir."   
  
"He's pretty young," Kirk says, narrowing his eyes as if he's not sure what to make of this exactly. Sulu lets his mouth fall open.  
  
"Captain," he says. "It's like four in the morning."  
  
"Oh – I know – sorry. Okay. As you were." Kirk walks off down the hall as if what just transpired wasn't humiliating or awkward at all, and Sulu is left standing in the doorway of his room, wondering if he's dreaming. He shuts the door, locks it, and crawls back into bed, where Chekov is moaning and reaching for him. Sulu draws him in close, and Chekov scoots up to kiss him as if he's still in a dream, lazy and slow, his leg wrapping around Sulu's side.  
  
"Was that the _Keptin_?" he asks, speaking into Sulu's mouth.  
  
"Yeah," Sulu says. "He's worried about you."   
  
"What happened to us," Chekov says, nodding, his eyes still closed. "It made me want to do this."  
  
"This?"  
  
"What I've been wanting from you," Chekov says, and Sulu squirms out of his sweatpants when he feels Chekov's cock brush against his leg under the blankets, so hard for him, and all it takes is this, kissing in the dark.   
  
"You'd – been – wanting?" Sulu hisses when his naked cock slides against Chekov's, and he's stiff just as easily, so fast.   
  
" _Da_." Chekov rolls onto his back and pulls Sulu up so that he's leaning over Chekov, up on his elbows and knees. "When I would come in here to talk to you. I would always sit on the bed, you know? I wanted you to drive me into it, Hikaru, like this, with my legs around your back."   
  
He wraps his legs around the small of Sulu's back, and they're not shaking now, but Sulu is, because Chekov might be half-asleep, but Sulu is pretty sure he just asked him to fuck him into the mattress.  
  
"Wait," Sulu says, though he's not sure why. His cock is dragging along the length of Chekov's, and Chekov is groaning beneath him, writhing weakly, spread open as if his bones have jellified.   
  
"Please, Hikaru," Chekov says, whispering now, one hand rubbing up the back of Sulu's neck. "You make me glad to be alive. Come inside me, please, I want you there."   
  
"Have you even – done this before?" Sulu asks, at a loss. Sulu has, but it was nothing like this, calm and languid in bed, and with someone he loves.   
  
"I never wanted to until you," Chekov says. "Please, you won't hurt me."  
  
Sulu has trouble believing that, especially when he fumbles some of his bedside jerk off lotion onto his hand and pushes one finger carefully into the heat of Chekov's body. He's so unbelievably tight that it makes Sulu dizzy, and he can't stop asking if Chekov is okay, even as Chekov gasps and pushes himself down onto Sulu's finger, begging for more.   
  
"All of you, all of you," Chekov keeps saying, making Sulu sick with longing, his cock so heavy and his heart slamming his ribcage. "Please, everything."   
  
When Sulu slides into Chekov he takes his time with every inch, and Chekov isn't begging _faster_ or _harder_ now, just breathing in the controlled way of a runner who is trying to save his strength. Sulu is trembling; there's nothing left of him but the shake that runs from his heels up to the back of his neck, and Chekov is so goddamn hot and tight, but all Sulu can think is _wait wait wait_ so that he doesn't give in to the urge to bury himself as deep as he can.   
  
"Okay?" he asks breathlessly, and Chekov nods slowly, his eyes cracked open and so dark. His skin is glowing white, and Sulu can just barely see the flush across his chest in the low light of the room. It's synthetic moonlight through the fake window near the ceiling, but in the moment Sulu believes it's real, that he has one of the fancy outside rooms with real windows on space. He feels like he might as well be on the hull of the ship, out there in the quiet nothing; everything is so still and fragile. One wrong move and he'll float away into the black.  
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says when Sulu is fully inside him, still leaning up on his shaking arms. Chekov is pulsing around him in slow pulls, getting him so close but not quite there. Sulu nods dreamily and reaches down between them to stroke Chekov's cock, rubbing the head in quick circles with his thumb, until Chekov's eyes fall shut and he starts licking and chewing on his lips, nodding and wincing, cinching up tighter and tighter around Sulu. He comes in a rush of breath, chest spasming, and goes limp with relief. Sulu almost falls into his own orgasm, but he moves backward a bit to hold it off, and Chekov groans with such tremendous strength that Sulu is afraid Kirk will pound on the door again and demand to know what's going on.   
  
"That's good, that's good," Chekov says, babbling as he pulls Sulu forward again. "Good, so good, yeah, _ah_ , Hikaru, please."   
  
Sulu is grateful as hell that he's already come once, so that he can hold his orgasm back while he pushes into Chekov, who arches back to take him in deeper, his fingers working madly over Sulu's hips, guiding him in a crazy rhythm that quickly dissolves, until Sulu is just plunging into him and Chekov is just making so much goddamn noise, slamming up to meet Sulu's thrusts. As soon as Sulu gets his eyes open long enough to stare at Chekov, the wild, desperate sight of him sends Sulu reeling into his orgasm, and he collapses onto Chekov as it spills from him, filling Chekov up, like he wanted, like he _wanted_.   
  
They lie there for awhile, boneless and soaked in sweat, fake moonlight everywhere. When Sulu withdraws from Chekov they both groan with the loss and roll together, to kiss each other like little reassurances, because it's kind of frightening, what just happened, how sharp and real it was. In an hour they'll be on the bridge, preparing to dock at the space station, and soon they'll be passengers on someone else's shuttle, just sitting and watching while they descend into Earth's atmosphere. Sulu smiles when he thinks of Chekov on Earth, in jeans and a sweater, drinking vodka from a tumbler while he makes potato pancakes at the little stove in Sulu's apartment in San Francisco. That's what he told Sulu he misses the most when they're in space, potato pancakes with sour cream.   
  
"So you're coming home with me," Sulu says. He kisses Chekov's nose. "Obviously."   
  
"This is our home," Chekov says, grinning. "The Enterprise. Your room."  
  
"Well, I have a room on Earth, too."  
  
"Vacation home," Chekov says.   
  
"Sure, fine. But. You'll be there. Right?"  
  
"Obviously." Chekov sits up and rubs his eyes. "I need a shower. Can I use yours?"  
  
"Yeah, I need one, too. Just – hang on a second." Sulu tilts his head on his recaptured pillow, watching Chekov as he sits looking down at him, his hair absolutely wrecked and everything about him reeking of sex, especially the dazed, fucked-out look in his eyes. Sulu grins.   
  
"What?" Chekov says.  
  
"Everyone's going to hate me," Sulu says. "If they know I have you."  
  
"Oh, you have me?"  
  
"Well –"  
  
"No, you do," Chekov says, putting a hand on Sulu's chest. He grins. "Don't worry. But how would anyone know? Are you going to kiss my cheek when you hand me papers on the bridge?"  
  
"I might as well. I told Kirk, or, he kinda figured it out when he came to the door."   
  
"So?"  
  
"Uh, so, he's Kirk."  
  
"Oh, he will tell everyone," Chekov says, nodding to himself. He smiles and shakes his head. "You thought I loved him," he says, his shoulders bouncing with laughter at the idea.   
  
"You thought the same about me," Sulu says, poking him until he laughs harder.   
  
"Not really," Chekov says. "I was just testing you."  
  
"Oh, right, sure."   
  
They take a shower, cold, because they need to be on the bridge soon and hot water will only get them started again. Drying each other off creates the same problem, however, and with fifteen minutes to get to work Sulu is on his knees and sucking Chekov's soap-scented cock. Chekov barely has time to push Sulu onto his back and kneel over him to finish him off, but it's worth the jog they have to take to the bridge in order to get there on time, because when they do they can both call Kirk _sir_ with the taste of come on their tongues.   
  
Not that Sulu has anything against Kirk, really. It's just kind of funny, after everything. They dock successfully, and Kirk calls everyone on the bridge around for a pep talk.   
  
"Enjoy your break," he says. "And come back to the Enterprise with clear heads."  
  
Sulu knows he can't promise that as he walks out into the space station with Chekov, who wants to eat breakfast before they board the shuttle for Earth. Sulu will come back to the Enterprise with his head full of Chekov, but maybe if they spend their whole week off in bed he'll be able to concentrate when they return to work beside each other on the bridge.   
  
"Do you think Kirk was looking at us kind of funny?" Sulu asks as he and Chekov stand in line at the counter of a quickie restaurant in the station's main dining area.   
  
"Yes," Chekov says, beaming. "He's jealous."   
  
Sulu snorts, though it might be true. He feels dumbstruck and privileged just being able to watch Chekov order eggs and toast, knowing that they'll be in bed together soon, when they get back to the planet, and Chekov has to ask him what he wants three times before Sulu shakes out of his gratitude and hears the question.


End file.
